


Monsters

by RedTeamShark



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bad coping mechanisms, Gen, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Sleeplessness, canon character death (referenced), post chorus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTeamShark/pseuds/RedTeamShark
Summary: Carolina deals with the aftermath of Chorus and a monster that won't leave her nightmares.





	Monsters

> Graffiti found on Spiral, near the Charon Industries Complex: _  
> All monsters are of human origin_

Sometimes Carolina wakes up in a cold sweat, arm jammed against her mouth to hold in the scream. Fire crackles around her for a moment even in reality, acrid kerosene smoke in her nostrils. 

“ _You’ll burn for what you did to me._ ”

“Epsilon, status report,” she commands in the dark, waiting for the blue glow and the voice both in her head and out loud that tells her everything is fine. Waiting and waiting, one hand on the gun under her pillow, eyes trying to be everywhere at once, to see in the dark. “Epsilon!”

She usually remembers then. Remembers Chorus and the lives they saved. The lives it cost them.

The family it cost her.

Those nights are sleepless ones. There’s no point in trying to get back to nightmares. If she’s lucky, she can do some low-intensity, repetitive action like cleaning her guns and convince her brain that she’s slept. If she’s unlucky, she’ll drag herself through the next day and the next until exhaustion overwhelms even self-preservation and she’s able to sleep.

Most of the time, Carolina has learned, it’s the latter.

Still, she at least has to try to. Coping mechanism. She sits up in bed, pulling her handgun from under her pillow and turning on the lamp next to her. Three short steps bring her to the desk, fingers already working on the gun. Magazine out, slide pulled back to eject the one in the chamber. Her tools were already laid out and she disassembles the rest of the handgun as she sits down, motions automatic. Clean, reassemble, test, reload, set aside. Carolina gets the next gun from under the desk, disengaging the magnetic hold and repeating the process. The sun is starting to light her window behind the thin curtain, good.

It’s sort of like sleep. It’ll have to do.

With the sun up, she changes into a different shorts and tank top combination, pulling on socks and tying sneakers. Go for a run. That was always good. Chorus’ sunrises came early and the air got hot and humid fast in the summer, the dense jungle that had barely been pushed back from the cities keeping it from ever getting too cold at the coast. You had to go inland to experience seasons and even then, they were brief and relatively mild. That was okay. She didn’t need snow, and the sea salt tang in the air usually burned out the worst of the lingering nightmares.

–

> Scratchings in a cell on the UNSC Prison Transport Ship Tartarus:  
>  _Humans created fantastic beasts to conceal their own evils_

It’s strange being a civilian. It’s strange not spending all but a few hours a day in armor. It’s strange meeting people for lunch.

Well, the last part might not be strange, but Doctor Emily Grey has a certain… affinity for making things unusual.

“…so then I said ‘amputate’er, I hardly know’er!” The young woman laughs breathlessly at her own joke, before her face grew abruptly serious. “But seriously, Harrington had to have her arm amputated after the explosion. I’m working her through physical therapy and Palmer’s working the psychological side. She’s refusing a prosthetic right now so I might have some of my… testimonials come talk to her.”

“Grey, you’re a doctor, not a revival preacher.” Carolina shakes her head slightly, sipping her coffee. Caffeine is an excellent replacement for sleep.

“You know, you say that but the number of patients I’ve brought back from heart-stopped-death that exclaim ‘oh god you saved me’ kind of nullifies your argument.” Grey’s smile is teasing, fingers toying with the string of her teabag. “You’ve drank three cups of coffee since we got here, Carolina… Sure you don’t want to come down to the office and have a chat in a more professional setting?”

“I’m fine.” Functional. Passable. Those things translate to fine in civilian speak. “Besides, Kimball asked me to come by and supervise training this afternoon. There are still… tensions. She figures having a neutral party running drills might make everyone stop in-fighting and pay attention.”

“And your reputation precedes you, of course.”

Carolina doesn’t let the subtle dig get to her. Much. Externally. “There could be an attack from any front. We weren’t exactly subtle that we were out here. If we’re an allied force across the planet, that’s one less front of a potential war.”

Grey frowns, taking a bite of her sandwich. “There are so many of them… so many of _us_ that don’t know how to be civilians. I almost think that some people in the Civil Defense Team are there looking for a fight, instead of trying to prevent one. Without war, we’re just… drifting. Some people are getting along okay, but…” She shakes it off, smile growing again. “I think we’re learning how every day. Have you heard about the Crop Coalition? They expect to have a harvest this fall. Real food. Fresh vegetables. Not repurposed MREs that people try their best with. Not that this isn’t good,“ she calls hastily towards the counter of the small shop, as if the worker behind it has heard her at all.

Lunch with Doctor Emily Grey is always an interesting affair. The prods at her psyche might be annoying, but for the most part it’s the closest thing Carolina has to a real friendship since…

Since too long.

–

Afternoon training with Kimball’s Civil Defense Team–she refuses to call it an army, refuses to say that they’re still at war–is much less friendly. The in-fighting is bad enough, the squabbles among former New Republic and Federal Army troops… but the incompetence is almost worse. Carolina has to remind herself constantly that most of these people are kids, handed a gun and told who the enemy was. Given no proper training, no tactics besides shoot and try not to get shot.

It’s a headache.

“Alright, front and center! Double-time!” Carolina orders, her voice amplified by her helmet. Being in armor again is almost relaxing. Almost. If these “troops” didn’t seem hellbent on raising her blood pressure through the roof. They line up messily and she paces in front of them, aware of extra eyes on her. Like she’s going to blow her top again on some innocent kid… “You are a _team_. You are a cohesive unit and you’re going to _fucking act like it_!” She turns an abrupt left-face in front of them, staring at the assembled ranks. Kids. They’re kids. Her voice softens, just slightly. “I know that until now, you saw each other as the enemy. As a target. But that’s not how it is anymore–”

“Yeah, right…” A voice mumbles and she swings her attention to the soldier–the _kid_ who probably isn’t even old enough to drink in a bar, who probably has never known anything but war.

“Did I _ask_ for your input, soldier?”

“No, ma’am! Sorry, ma’am!” Christ, his voice even cracks still.

“Sorry doesn’t–”

“ _Sorry doesn’t bring them back!_ ”

The intrusive words jolt her out of her anger, right over to something far more volatile. No. Don’t think about it. She takes a moment to calm down, before addressing the group as a whole again.

“There could be something out there. Something coming for this planet. Charon Industries is not the only mega-corporation run by a megalomaniac in the galaxy. There’s something on Chorus that they want. Alien tech. Weapons. Resources. Your job is not just to defend those _things_. Your job is to defend the _people_ of this planet. Your family, your friends, your neighbors. Everyone who lives and breathes here and is _sick and tired_ of being in a war zone. Your job, that you chose to undertake, is to make sure that those who want peace can have it. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Well, that actually… worked. Carolina smiles under her helmet, nodding to them.

“Good. Now, as a _team_ I want you all to run five laps around the field. Keep pace together. After that you’re dismissed for the day.” She steps away as they take off in a rough grouping, her eyes scanning for any trouble. None. Maybe her speech actually worked.

A hand sets lightly on her shoulder and she tenses, but it’s only Kimball next to her. That’s okay, then. “I don’t know how you do it…”

“Probably fear. No one else wants to get their head ripped off–metaphorically, of course.” Better not to think about the literal equivalent.

“Thanks for coming down and whipping them into shape. Probably won’t be the last time that I need you to…” Kimball’s back straightens slightly. “But we can hope.”

“I’m here to help however I can, Kimball.” Anything to ease her guilt. Help, sure. Help herself.

–

> Graffiti on the Capitol building of Armonia, former capital city of Chorus:  
>  _It is easier to face the darkness we see than to fight the shadows within_

A soldier without a war is a gun without bullets. There’s no place for it in the world, no spot it can be set and say “yes, you belong here.” People will keep their distance, will ask if it’s dangerous, if it could hurt them. And most often, the answer will be yes. Safety first says to always treat a gun like it’s loaded, and to always treat a soldier like they’re in a war. Even a gun without bullets is capable of causing harm.

The analogy maybe isn’t perfect, but it feels right. With nothing to fight against (she can’t give herself the false nobility of having something to fight _for_ , not anymore), Carolina is more lost than she’s ever been. There’s no brick wall to butt her head against, no test of her skills and survival. Life is just a list of daily tasks to be completed. Wake up, go for a run, shower, eat breakfast, go to the gym, eat lunch, go for a swim, eat dinner, go to bed. Sometimes she sees others, her friends as they call themselves. Most of the time she doesn’t.

It’s not even that she’s feeling something as mundane as boredom. There are plenty of things to do, plenty of communities and committees that would pretend to be happy to have her on board. The Crop Coalition is always looking for more people to be in the fields. Engineering always has flyers up about needing people who can do simple maintenance tasks like plugging in cables or putting up safety signs. Even the Civil Defense Team is still asking for recruits to help protect what they’ve managed to rebuild. Harmonius has plenty of places where she can try to fit in.

And no places where she really would.

Carolina isn’t oblivious to the looks given to her, to the wide berth on sidewalks. To the fact that when she goes to lunch with Doctor Grey or Kimball, no one sits at the tables next to them. She might be a gun without bullets, but everyone remembers the tales of the gun that loaded itself and shot someone who messed with it. Everyone knows what happened to her.

There’s no reason to want to have a ‘chat in a professional setting’ about it. It’s the past. She’s trying to let go of the past.

“ _Your past come back to haunt you._ ”

Carolina shudders, looking over her shoulder. Just the mirror at the gym, just herself. Scars and muscles equally hidden under a t-shirt, no one else in the room. No one that smells like smoking death. No one that’s held together by surgical staples and determination.

No one that wants her dead.

When her mind starts to dig into itself like this, she finds herself falling into the old habit of wishing. Wishing for a different life from beginning to end. Wishing for different turns, different outcomes. Different parts of fate.

If she’d gone with the Reds and Blues, with Epsilon, to that final showdown.

If she’d convinced the Director to come with her, instead of leaving him to himself with her pistol.

If she’d left with those that abandoned the project.

If she’d seen Agent Texas as a teammate instead of a rival.

If she’d thought of anything other than being the best.

If she’d never joined the military.

If she’d had a father willing to open up to her in his grief.

If she’d never lost her mother.

The thoughts can only be quieted by action, by movement. By fighting against something, anything. She punches and kicks the bag at the gym, rips the thick canvas and spills sand over the floor. There’s nothing she can do about where she is now. She can only try to improve her future.

She can only try to redeem herself from all those actions, all those choices.

If she’d…

–

> Segment of a letter left at Charon Medical Recovery Facility:  
>  . _..I don’t believe there is any light left in the world. The flames that burn are those of torment and pain. If that’s all that’s left for me…_

“Perhaps it’s because you feel guilty for your actions–”

“They were a threat.”

“From what I understand, they were barely able to get on their feet–” Doctor Grey holds up her hands at the look Carolina shoots her, smiling disarmingly. “I’m not vilifying you or your actions. I’m trying to help you come to terms with them.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Carolina groans, sinking back onto the couch. “I never do well around brain-pickers.”

“You get defensive. Typically indicates that you have trouble accepting your own actions and the consequences of them, and fear being judged poorly by others when they learn about you.” Doctor Grey leans forward slightly, her hands trailing over her barren desk. Carolina isn’t technically a patient on file. She wouldn’t be seeing the head of surgery if she was. “Would you prefer to collect your thoughts without verbal input from me?”

“I don’t know. Thinking out loud isn’t really my style.”

“Well… Let’s go over the situation again…”

“Doctor… Emily. It’s not worth it.” A sigh from the woman on the couch as she stands. “I can relive the situation a million times in your ‘controlled and safe environment,’ but I’m still going to have the nightmares.” She moves to the door, looking over her shoulder with a forced smile. “Thanks, though.”

“I’m always here if you want to talk. Unless I’m in the O.R.”

–

It isn’t something that _should_ bother her. She eliminated a threat. Hell, she wasn’t even the one that fired the final shot. That was either Wash and Kimball or Donald Doyle. Sharkface survived a building being dropped on them, she doubts a few bullets actually took them out. A nuke, on the other hand…

Then again, Locus and Felix had survived the crash of the Tartarus, only somewhat worse for the wear. And they hadn’t had a domed shield and an AI keeping them safe.

“It’s over,” Carolina whispers into her mirror, staring herself in the eye. “It’s over and they’re dead, you can let go of your past.”

She knows it’s true. It _has_ to be true. But she still feels like she’s lying to herself.

“ _…it will never be over._ ”

–

> Remnant of a matchbook left at nightclub Errera  
>  _I am the single flame_

‘Community Night’ is what it’s bannered under. A chance for anyone and everyone to get together and acknowledge that they’re all in the same boat and might as well try not to sink it. Well, it’s promoted as a chance to see friends and get to know new people, but… Carolina figures it’s about the same.

Kimball brings her to this one with the help of Doctor Grey. A huge cook-out on the beach just outside the city to celebrate the success of the Crop Coalition. Food, drink, music, a bonfire after dark. Like they weren’t at war a year ago. Like they couldn’t be at war again any day.

Still, Carolina goes and she eats. She talks to some people, even. Not everyone avoids her like she has the plague; Jensen and the other New Republic Lieutenants sit at a table with her and tell her about their lives after the war. Bitters is heading the Crop Coalition, Palomo is trying to help him (“key word, trying,” Bitters adds, lightly punching the younger man’s shoulder). Jensen and Smith are working with Engineering, putting Harmonius together from rubble and reclaiming it from the jungles that had tried to move in. It’s fulfilling work for all of them. Peaceful. Something that isn’t just war and fear and waiting to hear the bullet that will take you out.

She stands alone by the bonfire after dark, after most people have moved into smaller groups and laid out blankets under the stars. She stands along and she watches the flames, tries to tell herself that her heart isn’t racing. She should have left before the fire started. She should have gone back to her small house. She shouldn’t be standing here smelling burning and feeling the heat of it. This is an accident waiting to happen and–

“You have ash in your hair,” a voice speaks up beside her and Carolina jumps, reaches for the gun that’s not actually at her side. “Sorry,” Doctor Grey smiles sheepishly. “I thought you saw me standing here.”

“I… guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Relaxing?”

Remembering. Remembering the smell of kerosene and the heat of flames and the hatred of a life she’d destroyed. “Not really,” Carolina grimaces. “I should probably leave.”

“You know that you’re welcome here, though. That Chorus can be your home as much as it’s ours.”

Home. When was the last time she’d had a home? The Mother of Invention? Maybe… “I guess. It’s just… not always easy to be around people.” Her skin is crawling, hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Was someone watching her? Carolina reaches up, rubbing the back of her neck lightly. Great, that felt like the precursor to another sleepless bought of nightmares and paranoia.

“Small steps, though. You came out here. And I saw you eating with others. Hell, I think you even laughed once.” Doctor Grey grins, touching her arm lightly. “You’re getting better every day, you know.”

“Thanks. Really. But… I think I’ve had enough socialization for one day.” Someone is definitely watching her. Carolina’s eyes cut back to the bonfire, trying to see who it was. Is there someone staring at her on the other side of the flames? Or are they just watching the fire itself? _Why_ does she feel like this so suddenly? There _has_ to be something happening. She wants Epsilon back, Epsilon with his scans and his data and his ability to assure her that what she feels is justified.

Doctor Grey lets her go with a last look of concern and Carolina moves quickly away from the fire, away from the dispersing crowd. Someone raises a hand to her as she passes and she nods without a thought, without a glance. She has to leave, she has to get somewhere that she can put her back to a wall and see all the exits, see all the angles she could be attacked from or she’s going to do something she’ll regret. History will repeat and she can’t have that, she _can’t_ , not when these people have let her invade their lives with her problems and her lashing out and the string of awful events that follow her everywhere she goes. She can’t lose this chance over the sensation of being watched.

“ _I hope you said something meaningful the last time you saw them._ ”

She has to get away from Chorus. Away from memories that still haunt her. This place is too many maybes all stacked together. Too many nightmares. 

–

> Graffiti found in Harmonius, new capital city of Chorus  
>  _No fire is ever extinguished_

The feeling of being watched is only getting worse and by the time she reaches her small house she’s almost running. She wants Epsilon in her head and over her shoulder, telling her that everything is okay or at least what it is that _should_ have her so freaked out. She wants Wash at her six, being her eyes where she can’t see and covering for her. She wants her _team_ back with her and–

And there’s someone in her house.

Carolina knows it even before she reaches the door. She _never_ leaves the corner of the welcome mat flipped up like that, never. Her legs slow down, breath steadying. All of her weapons are inside except for her fists. Trying to seem oblivious to whatever threat is on the other side of the door, she makes her way up her short walk. Fishes the key from her pocket and sockets it into the lock. The tumblers feel loose. Someone picked her lock.

“ _You’re a charming guy and a shitty lockpick, York._ ”

“ _One outta two ain’t bad._ ”

She really can’t escape her past here.

The door opens to a dark room, the single light she always leaves on extinguished. She spends exactly seven seconds telling herself that the bulb blew out before she’s momentarily blinded by the overhead light turning on. When she can see again, she gasps, taking a step back.

“No…”

“Seeing ghosts?” The voice that comes matches the one in her head. The voice of guilt personified, the voice of all her failings as a human being. Carolina reaches for her sidearm, even knowing that it won’t be there. “Easy does it, Agent Carolina.”

“You’re dead.” Visual hallucinations to go along with the nightmares. She’s stepping backwards instead of forwards. That has to be it.

“Unfortunately no. Seems you and your buddies didn’t quite finish the job.” They step forward slowly, the light catching the half of their face that’s pulled into a permanent grin by scars.

“The explosion…”

“Came very, very close, I’ll admit. Some of Charon’s hired guns picked me up and got me to a medical facility. Patched up the holes your friends put in me.” One hand reaches up, touching their chest slowly. “But enough about me.”

“What do you want.” Why is she frozen in place? She should be going for an incapacitation if she can’t get to a gun. Not standing here talking. Anything but just standing here while her worst nightmare stands across from her!

Sharkface looks away for only a moment before their dark eyes are on her again. “You dropped a building on me. You left me for dead, and then you killed my friends. You took away the only family I ever had…” Their fists clenches, teeth gritting together. “And now you’re standing here acting like you didn’t abandon your _own_ family when they need you the most! Like you somehow deserve isolation when you’re clearly hurting!”

“What?” She’s genuinely too stunned to comprehend them. Are they… sympathetic to her?

“I won’t watch you destroy yourself before I get the chance to do it. If you’re _really_ as sorry as you said you were about what happened to me, about what happened to my friends… Then you need to… to start living the life that you took from them. You need to be _alive_ for the sake of everyone who isn’t because of you. Sitting here wallowing in guilt does _nothing_ to help anyone. Action is how to move on, how to move forward. Being _alive_.” Their fist pounds their chest twice quickly, like a heartbeat.

“You sound like Doctor Grey.” The words surprise her and seem to throw them off, too. But they do… that’s her philosophy, read back out. Relieve guilt by living the life those you lost would want you to live. Be alive for the sake of those who aren’t.

“Philosophy was never my strong point. I may have taken some tips.” They step forward slowly, eyes on her. They’re still dangerous, still full of murderous hate, she can almost feel it on them like fever heat. Like fire. “You are not the monster you paint yourself to be.”


End file.
